


Cleanse

by Stygma



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: ASMR, ASMR-esque, Bathing, Gen, Hair Washing, No Romance, Non-Sexual Intimacy, One Shot, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Short One Shot, hygiene, platonic, playing with hair, we're all moms now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 17:24:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7649809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stygma/pseuds/Stygma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Junkrat gets a bad case of head lice and Mercy is given the unenviable task of cleaning him up</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cleanse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vargrimar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vargrimar/gifts).



Lather, rinse, repeat.

The instructions on the bottle were simple. It wasn't the most glamourous work, but Angela supposed she was grateful for the reprieve from the more complicated procedures she'd had to perform as of late.

Coaxing the itchy, wiry boy sat before her into leaning back, she eased his head down into the basin of water and allowed him a moment to acclimate to its temperature. Angela tried her best to suppress a grimace at the plumes of grey that drifted off the matted clumps of his hair as she tugged at her thin rubber gloves to bring them into a proper fit.

Junkrat had contracted a case of head lice.

A nasty one.

Typically Angela's approach was just to let the boy manage his personal care as he saw fit - she wasn't his mother, after all - and although his complete and utter lack of hygienic sense was spectacularly off-putting, he'd proven to be a valuable member of the team and had always performed his job well. Wiping down a few extra surfaces in the commons now and then seemed a reasonable trade-off... But this most recent development in his long list of health oversights posed a threat to the greater welfare of the team, and was not something she could ignore as easily. She would already have to sanitize the bedding in the barracks as a precaution. God knows she didn't want to treat two dozen cases of lice infestation.

 _Schade._ Just the thought of it made her itch, and she found herself unconsciously scratching her wrist with a gloved finger as she squeezed a dollop of the medicated shampoo into her palm. An irritated sigh escaped her as she reached out gingerly to press her fingertips into the boy's scalp.

Surprise and pity flooded her when he reacted by flinching.

Goodness. Was he really so unfamiliar with a friendly touch?

"Do please relax."

Junkrat blinked and settled in with a grunt, bouncing the knee joint of his prosthetic to let out some of his endless pent up energy.

Angela got to work, starting by running wide circles along the whole of the boy's head and producing a nice lather as she tried her best to push the thought of lurking parasites from her mind. She was happy to see a thin bloom of golden wisps had appeared since she last saw Junkrat up close, filling in the desolate patches between his locks where he'd previously gone bald. Excellent. He was responding well to her treatments for radiation sickness - and, more importantly, this was a sign he was actually following her prescribed regiments.

Below her Junkrat's eyes darted in every direction, ever sharp and wild, clearly uncomfortable with the close contact and unsure of where to look. His prone position made it almost impossible to avoid eye contact with Angela, and the stream of anxiety he exuded saturated the air with a frantic energy that made it exceedingly difficult to work, causing her to purse her lips.

"Close your eyes, Junkrat, or you may get soap in them."

"Ah, right".

Heavy lids came down like a curtain, much to Angela's relief.

It felt odd to her to address the boy outside of combat by his hero name. She knew his real one, of course, but it had never quite seemed to fit him, a smooth and elegant collection of syllables that hung all wrong around his knobby knees and sinewy shoulders. "Junkrat" didn't suit him either, truthfully, and it came with a questionable heap of connotative baggage and false bravado, but at least it was a name he had chosen for himself. She began to massage the sides of his temples in slow, thorough circles, making sure to spread the lather evenly. As she worked her way up she paid special attention to the brilliant shock on the crown of his head, the one place where his hair was the thickest.

It was difficult for her to imagine the circumstances that would lead a young man to inventing such a raucous identity for himself. When Junkrat had first joined Overwatch, she'd been sure he was much, much older than his actual age; the Outback had sculpted him into a well-oiled machine of muscle and chaos, no question, but rampant radiation, sun exposure and intense malnutrition had wreaked absolute havoc on his skin and overall well-being. Now, after several months of proper food and her close medical care, rested peacefully in the chair before her, Angela could almost make out the ghost of the gentle young man he was meant to be. How old must Junkrat have been when the unthinkable happened? She reviewed his file in her head as she kneaded his scalp with her fingertips... _Jamison Fawkes, 25, Moderate to Severe Radiation Poisoning, Severe Malnutrition, Actinic Keratosis, Double Amputation, Post-Traumatic Arthritis, Chronic Phantom Limb Pain, Suspected Family History of Graves' Disease._

She winced. Truly she'd had her work cut out for her with this patient.

But yes, 25, 25...

He must have been... Six or seven at the time of the disaster? Maybe younger. Did he have a mother back then? Angela would like very much to meet a woman who could raise a son in the apocalypse. A boy who could raise himself, however... now that was a scary thought. Although it would explain much of his colourful record. She wondered when a bodyguard had come into the picture, and what effect such a thing might have on one's formative years.

Angela cupped her hands beneath his head and lifted ever so gently so she could work the light hairs that trailed the nape of Junkrat's neck. The water had long since turned positively grey, but she had to admit that there was a certain satisfaction to be had in revealing the light gold mane that lay hidden beneath all that filth - though she wished that lice weren't so visible to the naked human eye. She was grateful for her gloves.

As she pressed her fingertips in to massage the juncture between Junkrat's skull and his spine she felt him shiver beneath her, goosepimples crawling along his good arm. He had been tense for the entirety of the procedure thus far, and she began to worry. He was well known for his aversion to water, after all.

"Are you alright, Junkrat? Are you experiencing any discomfort?"

Junkrat's eyebrow twitched and his metal limbs shifted with a low creak.

"Nah..."

Junkrat seemed confused.

"...S'nice."

Angela's own eyebrow quirked at the response and Junkrat, sensing the pause, cracked a mischievous lid open to peer at her.

"Calmin'. Like little pins'n'needles is dancin' all over my head."

Her initial suspicions had likely been correct. Looking down into the face of the emaciated junker, Angela tried to imagine having lived well into her adult life without ever experiencing physical affection from a friend. She was unable.

She hummed as a light river of sympathy welled up in her.

"...Indeed."

Angela lay his head back down and retrieved a second basin of warm water, happy she'd had the foresight to know he'd sully the first with his grime. One more rinse would do it, then she could leave Mako to the combing and get to work on the bedding in the barracks. Mr. Rutledge may not have been the sort Angela would keep company with if given the choice, but she had to admit, he had an admirable streak of conscientiousness and responsibility when it came to Junkrat's care.

And thank goodness...

She lightly toweled off Junkrat's head, leaving him with a mop of fresh, damp hair and a toothy grin before disposing of the cloth.

 _...Someone_ had to look out for this disaster of a boy.

**Author's Note:**

> So this isn't Symmrat or smut but I'm gifting it to Vargrimar as a little thank-you because goodness if YBIAW isn't incredible and getting me to write again  
> I'm devouring it religiously!
> 
> Anyway here's a snapshot of the rat getting cleaned up  
> Let him have a mom!


End file.
